In The Game
by OptimisticPessimist12
Summary: Jenessa "Jen" Spencer, victim of crime turned criminal. She figured that she would take one score with Michael De Santa and his crew, get a nice pay, and be set. Though, as one score becomes two, associates become friends, she realizes that, sometimes, you just can't simply quit. Sometimes, you have to play the game.
1. Paleto Bay Score: Part 1

**This idea originally started off as a short story thing I wanted to write for fun, and it evolved into a GTA fic because...I don't really know. I'm on a fanfic writing binge I really need to get out of. **

**Anyway, I promise, after the first two chapters, the following chapters won't be so 'by the book'. I figured one of the ways to throw a new character into things was through a heist. The Paleto Bay Score was one of my favourites, mostly due to the cut scenes you will see here. (And, come on, that mini-gun.) **

**I'm going to stop talking and let you read. **

**Warnings: Strong language, violence, sexual situations. Rated the way it is for a reason. **

* * *

**In The Game**

**Chapter One**

* * *

It had to have been the smallness of the room.

There was also the fact that it was unnecessarily warm and, even without clothes, it made it difficult to even just sit in the room. Though, combined with an overly active brain, the small and stuffy room put forth a sense of dreaded anticipation, like she was waiting for the familiar face to walk through the door once again.

_He's fucking dead, I killed him, _she told herself as she pulled on her jeans as she found them. _Wrapped that hose around his neck, pulled until I felt the pop. _

There was the fact that the other one, the one that she kept having to shove into the back into her mind, the man who played a rather prominent character in her nightmares, had gotten away. Though, she was sure it wouldn't matter now, she had gotten as far away from _that_ place as she could. Pulling up the zipper of her jeans, she let out a sigh and ran a hand through her hair, wiping away some of the sweat dotting her forehead.

It wasn't long before she was fully dressed, the stressed out woman trying not to jump when her phone went off.

"_Shit,_"she cursed to herself, pulling out her phone and silencing the ring. She took a glance at the man in the bed, who was still dead to the world. A frown crossed her face at the message that had appeared on her phone, and deepened slightly at the time sent. A little past noon, which surprised her, seeing as she assumed it was still early morning, judging from the darkness of the room. Shaking her head, trying to wake herself up a little more, she clicked open the message.

_Hey, Jen_

_Listen, I remember you telling me that you were looking for money, and I might just have a job for you. We are running a score, and we already have a main gunman, but if you want to prove your word, we could use another gun on getaway. The score's up in Paleto Bay. _

_You in? _

_- Michael_

The message was followed by an address, Jen rubbing the back of her neck. She wasn't too keen on picking up a gun, but she really would like to buy her own little run down apartment so she wouldn't have to sleep in a stranger's, usually at the catch of sleeping with _them_ as well.

_Still, fuck, Paleto Bay is quite the drive..._

Letting out a sigh through her nose, she clicked on the button beside the message and typed up a reply.

_Funds are running short. Count me in. _

_- Jen_

Taking a mental note of the address, and deleting the messages, she closed the door behind her quietly, putting another shameful night to rest.

* * *

"It-It's not inappropriate!"

"It's another one of your fucking disasters, that's what it is!"

There were a few things that Jen had been expecting, standing on the second floor of what she was certain was a meth lab, if the equipment in the attached room said anything. She had been expecting a few things, one of which wasn't to be standing on the second floor of a meth lab, and not to be walking in on what appeared to be a heated argument between Michael, whom she recognized right away, and another man, who she didn't get to look at long enough as he darted back into the other room.

"First you take a hostage against my advice," Michael continued, following the other man into the connected room, Jen walking up to the other people in the room with a look of confusion on her face, "then you start some crazy high school romance with her? _Are you nuts!?_"

"She's..." the other man started, but was cut off by Michael as he walked back into the main room.

"She's a sixty-year-old _housewife!_"

"She's fifty-seven!" the other man yelled, following after Michael, looking almost ready to start throwing things, "and...she thinks I'm mature!"

"Yeah? Well, let me tell you something! Thirty years of marriage to the world's angriest mob boss will make anyone insane!" Michael replied, Jen noticing the young man to her right looking like he was growing annoyed as the two older men walked back into the connecting room.

"You're not making my situation any easier!" Michael continued.

"_Oh_, there's a surprise! I knew it would become about _you!_"

"I miss my family!" Michael shouted back at him.

"You're so full of shit! All you ever did was ignore them, and now that their gone, _you miss them! _Fucking incredible."

"Fucking incredible. I'll tell you what's fucking incredible, motherfu-"

"Hey! Hey!" the young man beside Jen interrupted, both men coming back into the main room, "You got me out here! You wrote me into your crazy world of bullshit! If it was lies, New Age shit, and arguments about how good things used to me, I could have stayed my ass in Los Santos!"

"I second that," Jen said, raising her hand slightly, having already lost her interest in the argument the moment a hostage was mentioned.

"Who the fuck is she?" the other man asked, giving her a stare that damn near put Jen's fight-or-flight instinct into gear. He was a lean looking man, partly balding on the top of his head, and had a number of cuts and scars on his face.

"Oh, shit, right," Michael said, gesturing towards the woman in question, "this is Jen, she's here to help cover Franklin's ass, and ours, on the getaway. Glad you could make it. That asshole over there is Trevor."

"Yeah," Jen said with a nod, looking away from Trevor to look at Michael as he continued.

"Here's the shot," Michael said, the rest of the group looking towards him, "we're going to Paleto Bay to do this thing. Questions? Comments?"

"Uh, yeah," Trevor said, raising his hand, "I miss Brad. That crazy motherfucker was here with us now, he would have loved this. Instead he's got to enjoy himself molesting white collar criminals in a federal penitentiary."

"Thanks for sharing," Michael said, sounding irritated, "anybody else?"

"What 'bout me?" Franklin asked, pausing, glancing over at Jen, "uh, _us?_"

"You'll be waiting in the river on getaway," the man with the laptop said, Franklin glancing towards Jen, who nodded her understanding.

"Yeah, alright," Franklin agreed with a nod.

"These three go in," the man continued, pointing at Trevor, Michael, and another man at the table, who Jen guessed was the main gunman, as he stood with the help of a cane, "they grab the take, and rendezvous with the both of you once their out of there. That work for everyone?"

"Great, let's go," he continued after everyone nodded their agreement.

* * *

"So, ever hit a bank before, Franklin?" Trevor asked once everyone was settled into the white van, Michael and Franklin up front, Trevor, Jen, and the gunman in the back. Jen sat on the floor, shoved between the corner and Trevor. While she tried not to be obvious about it, even dressed in a suit, there was a certain odour to Trevor that made it rather _unpleasant_ to be in close proximity of him.

"Yeah," Franklin replied, "I was the driver on a job my boy, Lamar, pulled. Guess it's the same shit we doin' now, right?"

"Nice, bro. What was the take?" Trevor asked, Jen glancing up at Franklin, who was sitting in the passenger seat.

"Shit, I don't know, man. I don't remember."

"_Come on_, everyone remembers their first score."

"Well, shit, not me," Franklin said, attempting to end the conversation. Trevor looked at Michael, turning his attention to him.

"Mikey, bro, what was your first bank score?"

"Eighty-eight, outskirts of Carcer City," Michael replied, sounding somewhat smug, "took a small franchise for ten G. Eh, things were easier back then."

"Yeah, twenty-five years ago. _Jesus_," Trevor said, looking across the back of the van towards the gunman that Jen still had yet to learn the name of. Though, she doubted that she would be seeing either of these guys again after this.

"You. Generic goon. What was your first bank score?"

"Okay, we doin' this?" 'Generic Goon' asked, his eyebrows pulling together as he thought, "Robbin' stash spots don't count, I guess. Let me think, first real lick...Alright, yeah! Armoured car. Homes broke down in East Los, you know what I'm saying? They had it coming."

"How much did you take?" Michael asked.

"Two hundred," he paused, a smile crossing his face, "thousand."

"Oh!" Michael exclaimed, chuckling, "Big dog! First time out?"

"Had to send most of it up the ladder, yo. Reppin' Vagos. Yeah, so, that's when I went independent."

"Man, I hear you on that one," Franklin said, sounding sympathetic. Jen caught Trevor glancing over at her from the corner of her eye, making her turn to look at him and raise an eyebrow.

"Well, Miss Silence," he said, "what was your first score?"

"Don't have one," she said with a shrug, scratching the side of her cheek awkwardly.

"Wait, you're saying this is your _very first_ gig?" Trevor asked, Jen nodding her head, crossing her arms and looked over at Michael when Trevor looked at him, "you hired a complete fucking newbie, Mike?"

"Hey, she ain't going in with us," Michael said, "she told me she could shoot a gun. Jen, why don't you tell us about that, huh?"

"What's there to say? I come from your typical wilderness junkie family. My brother and I got rifles placed in our hands the moment we were old enough to handle them. Though, when my brother and I left, we didn't use them for hunting. My brother had a knack for pissing people off, and there were many nights were he would pull me up to the roof of the cabin, him with a sniper, me with a pistol, and... Let's just say I know how to use a gun, yeah?"

"Sounds to me like a night of good target practice!" Trevor said, causing Jen to huff and lean back against he wall of the truck. "Alright, your turn to share, kid!" he said, bringing his attention back to Franklin, who sighed.

"I told you. I don't remember the details, man."

"Leave him alone, Trevor," Michael said, coming to Franklin's aid, but Trevor wouldn't let up.

"This is an important moment, Michael. Here we are, on our way to our most certain deaths, bonding, pouring our hearts out, and he's just _sitting_ here, soaking it up, while giving nothing in return."

"Hey, if he don't remember..."

"If he don't remember? I'm supposed to trust this man with my life, and he can't trust me with the details of his first bank job?"

"Well, how about you?" Michael asked, "Why don't _you_ share with the group? I'm here, I'll back the facts."

"That cashed checks place? I went in, took em' for eight grand, walked out," Trevor explained, Jen looking up at Michael when she heard him chuckle.

"_Yeah. _It was a bit more complicated than that, wasn't it, T?"

"_Maybe_ I knew the guy. _Maybe_ he I.D'd me."

"_Maybe_ you did six months."

"Maybe I was out in four, and that's why, children, we don't leave witnesses."

"That, children, is why you don't rob people that you _know!_" Michael exclaimed, letting out a laugh.

Jen had to fight back the smirk, though it wasn't that hard to do when she remembered what Trevor had said before Michael's retort. _We don't leave witnesses. _She frowned, shaking her head slightly as she pressed her hand against her temple.

_Focus on the job at hand, _she told herself, _we can worry about that fucker coming after us later, maybe in bed, like we do every fucking night. _

"Franklin," Trevor said, sounding irritated, "share."

"Yeah, come on kid, it can't be worse than Trevor's!" Michael said, looking over at Franklin.

"Alright, man, shit," Franklin said, "The score was like two stacks, man."

"2G take home on your first gig?" Michael asked, "Fuck, that ain't bad, man."

"Man, the _whole score_ was two stacks," Franklin clarified, shaking his head, "Only, I didn't see any of that shit. The dye pack went off, homie. The money was useless, then."

"Dye pack?" Trevor asked, leaning back as he let out a high pitched laugh, "You amateur!"

"I knew I shouldn't have told you shit!" Franklin said, Jen giving him a sympathetic smile, even if he couldn't see it.

"Hey, Franklin, we all gotta start somewhere," Michael said.

"Last time I tell you somethin'," Franklin muttered, the conversation dying down for a few moments before Trevor spoke up again.

"Ah, come on. Don't be so cold, man. Learn to laugh at yourself! You're in danger of turning into _that_ man."

"Who, me?" Michael asked.

"Yeah, _you. _Wouldn't laugh. Wouldn't hang out," Trevor paused, breaking out into an impression of Michael, "'_I've got my work, I've got my life, never the two shall meet._' If we are risking our asses, we gotta be family. How 'bout that, Dye Pack?"

"Man, fuck you," Franklin snapped, shaking his head, "sense of humour..."

"Hey, let's just do this thing, alright?" Michael said, pulling into a street near the bank, stopping the car, "Alright, Frank, Jen. We're gonna drop you up here. When you hear it kick, get ready, because we're gonna wanna go ASAP."

Jen stepped out of the back of the truck, shutting the door and walked over to Franklin, who was reassuring Michael that he knew what he was doing. Jen managed to catch Trevor shouting something as Michael drove off, making Franklin shake his head as he handed her a gun.

"Come on, we don't want to be standin' around when that shit goes down," Franklin said, starting to walk down towards the bay, glancing back at her. "So, this really your first gig, huh?"

"Yeah," Jen said, rolling her eyes, "wasn't really wanting to share it with everybody, but..."

"Eh, dog, it's cool. Couldn't have picked a better crew for your first score. Long as you're true to your word and will cover my ass."

"I'll cover your ass," Jen said with a chuckle, "It's what I'm getting paid for. Hopefully I won't have to do so again. If the pay from this is good, maybe my first score will be my last."

"Yeah, or you get us both capped," Franklin said, "I hope you know what you're doing."

"I got it, you just work on the getaway."


	2. Paleto Bay Score: Part 2

**Alright, here is the last part of the Paleto Bay score. There should be some upcoming chapters that aren't so heavily mission based. Also, sorry for the bit of a wait on this, I just got a new laptop and I'm still trying to get used to a smaller keyboard and all that setup stuff. Anyway, thanks so much for the response last chapter and I hope that this chapter is up to par. :)**

**Warning: Strong language, violence, and sexual situations. Rated the way it is for a reason. **

* * *

**In The Game**

**Chapter Two**

* * *

"Uh, Frank?" Jen's voice shook slightly, her weapon in her hands and at the ready. Her worried gaze moved across the length of the bay, hearing the faint gunfire in the distance, as a few new boats started to arrive at the bay. It wasn't long before the bay started to fill up, police boats waiting like looming predators for the main attraction to arrive.

"We got some company," she muttered once the young man walked up to her, looking out at what she was staring at. He muttered a curse, Jen glancing back at him as he held a hand up to his ear piece.

"Eh, there's cops in the bay. You guys ain't gonna be able to get out this way," Franklin warned, pulling his hand away from his ear as he waited for a response on what to do.

"We aren't seriously going to try and push our way out through there, are we?" Jen asked, casting a worried glance towards the waiting boats, "I mean..."

"Eh, Mike'll know what to do," Franklin said, standing behind her with his arms crossed against his broad chest. Jen shot him another glance, anxiety written all over her face.

She had been doubting her agreement to the thing during her drive up to Blaine County, and it was now ever so present just what she had agreed to. She would need to cover these guys, which meant shooting at police and most likely killing a number of them. Sure, she had shot at people before, watched her brother finish them off, but he had always claimed after that it was either they or them.

_They or them. Them or us. _

"Hey, F," Michael's voice filtered in through both Franklin's and Jen's ear pieces, "we need another escape route. Can you find a vehicle? Something that might stand up to gunfire. There's some construction around the way."

Franklin stated his agreement, guesturing that Jen follow him as the two of them abandoned the boat the the waiting police boats. Jen jogged after Franklin, the pressure starting to get to her a little bit as she kept glancing around in paranoia, waiting for a whole swarm of police cars to start rolling up. The two of them managed to reach the construction site, Franklin pausing to glance around for anything that could be used as a vehicle.

"Alright, shit," Franklin said, starting to walk towards a bulldozer, the man pausing just outside it, "it's gonna be a tight squeeze, but we gotta get goin'."

"I've been crammed into smaller," Jen said, slightly out of breath as she almost seemed to prance around on her feet, hearing the gunfire and the occasional explosion off in the distance, "if you say we gotta go, we gotta go!"

Franklin pulled open the door to the bulldozer, getting into the seat inside as Jen shoved herself in behind him, crouched low. She managed to lower herself behind the seat as the bulldozer rumbled to life, Franklin pulling out of the construction site and onto the road. Jen glanced at the window behind her, her eyebrows furrowing.

"Did you want me to blow the back window?" she asked, "get any of the people you might have missed up front?"

"Nah, dog," Franklin said, "I got this. Save your bullets, judgin' from the noise, you're going to need them."

Jen nodded her head, noticing a few jeeps pulling out in front of Franklin, her eyes widening slightly at the sight of the soldiers that stepped out, opening fire on the bulldozer. For the most part, the bulldozer managed to hold it's own, the sound of bullets against metal shaking Jen slightly. She was starting to realize that if the army was stepping in, she would really need to save bullets. The bulldozer was a good pick, as cramped as it was inside, though they would need to ditch it eventually once the other members of the crew were picked up.

There was no way around this, Jen would most likely end up firing a few rounds. As Franklin pushed his way through the two jeeps, making his way towards another set of jeeps that just pulled up in front of him, a numbness that she had been waiting for finally set in. It was a same one that used to wash over her once the first shot of her brother's sniper rifle filled her ears, Jen steeling herself for whatever might be coming her way.

"You okay?" Michael asked, Franklin smashing his way through the next barrier of jeeps.

"We ain't dead yet," he replied, "I'm on my way."

It took a little while, but Franklin managed to reach where Trevor and Michael were waiting for him, decked up completely in body armour, moving sluggishly as Franklin pulled up, lowering the scoop of the bulldozer to allow the two of them to sit themselves down inside. Jen took a glance behind them, not really listening to what was being said, blood rushing in her ears.

It took her a moment to register the vehicle behind them, her eyes widening as she found her voice.

"There's a _fucking tank_ right behind you, F," she said, ducking down as the tank fired off a shot, exploding dangerously close to the bulldozer as it was nearing the exit of the area.

"I got it, homie," Franklin said, pulling out onto the main road.

"Go left!" Trevor instructed, "there's another tank coming from the right!"

"Eh, quite the disturbance you causin'!" Franklin said as he turned, avoiding the tank that appeared to his right.

"Well, you know me and Trevor," Michael said, "Wherever we go, drama follows."

"That's one way of puttin' it," Franklin said, turning towards a factory at the appearance of yet another tank, surrounding them from all possible areas of escape, forcing Franklin to pull up into the factory. He stopped the bulldozer as Michael and Trevor got out and started to move towards the factory, Franklin pushing open the door and jumping down, Jen following close behind.

"Alright, let's go inside. Regroup," Michael said, leading the four of them into the building, Jen keeping close to Franklin, her weapon up and aimed.

"F, use me as cover, I'm the one with the armour," Michael said as they got deeper into the factory, soldiers stepping out and opening fire, "J, you keep behind T. We got a train to catch!"

Jen raised her gun up, noticing another soldier stepping out behind a corner near her, gun aimed right at her. She quickly fired a couple shots at him, moving once he was down to behind some extra cover as Trevor was taking out some soldiers ahead of him.

"Eh, man, these guys are every-fucking-where!" Franklin exclaimed, keeping close behind Michael, Jen shooting another soldier that was getting too close, all the noise and movement starting to blur together for her. She _needed_ to get out of there, _all_ of them did, and the sooner the better.

"We punch through, we get clear!" Michael called back, rounding another corner, where more soldiers appeared. Jen heard Trevor cursing out some of the soldiers he was firing at, she joining in so that the two of them would be able to catch up. She pushed up ahead a little bit, managing to find cover behind a box across from Franklin.

As they cleared another room, a new voice filtered in through their ear pieces, Jen recognizing the other gunman's voice.

"Homies, I'm holding them, where you at?"

"Tanks herded us into a chicken factory," Michael replied, lumbering his way forward after he shot another soldier.

"Okay, I'll deal with all the ground troops I can!"

"Generic Goon did alright!" Trevor piped up, "that was a good hire."

"Yeah, if you don't surround yourself with wasters and meth heads, you gotta a chance of getting things done," Michael said, Jen moving back in behind Trevor as more soldiers came into the room, all the gunfire starting to sound like white noise. She had never been under so much gunfire before, it was taking most of her self restraint from slipping completely into panic mode, though it didn't help with the shakiness of her hands and her accuracy.

As she was starting to acknowledge that, the sound of a train broke through the sound of gunfire and shouting. She held onto that sound, letting hope cloud her judgement somewhat and allowed her to keep pushing through. They were nearly there.

"I jumped some fools heading towards the factory," the other gunman said as they approached another room, "holding most of them off, but few got through."

"I don't know where we'd be without you, bro. Probably on our backs," Michael said, pausing in the room that held the train platform, which he was climbing up onto, "T, G just jumped a team of them outside. We might be okay if we make it to the train platform. Just hold them back."

Jen managed to get some cover behind a box, noticing a few soldiers heading down towards him from the other side of the room. She acted almost numbly, opening fire on the nearest one, shooting until he was down before ducking back behind the box to reload. She kept that up, focusing on the area to her right, inching back slightly towards the train as the amount of soldiers coming into the room was thinning out.

"They're pulling back, bro!" G exclaimed, "The army is pulling back!"

"Alright!" Michael cheered, "Hey, you're a pro, man. As if there was ever any doubt. Slip out of town and call Lester when you're clear," he backed away towards the train as Trevor and Franklin did so as well, "We got a break, people. Let's catch a train!"

The four of them gathered at the edge of the platform, waiting for an open container, jumping at the nearest one. Jen managed to pull herself a little further into the car before Franklin followed in, Trevor and Michael landing on top of him as they managed to get on. Once everybody was in the train car, Michael started to cheer in relief.

"Fuckin' A!"

It took a minute or so before Jen managed to realize the change in situation. She sat with her back against the car, resting her arms on her knees as she let out a breath, resting her forehead on her arms as she felt her racing heart.

"Yo, Jen, you alright?" Franklin asked, taking a seat down beside her as Michael and Trevor started to remove the armour they were wearing.

"Yeah...Yeah, I'm good," she said, letting out a breathless chuckle, "never been through something like that before. Just need a minute..."

* * *

It was an hour or so before the train finally stopped, the four criminals sitting in the car for a while before Michael gave a go ahead to get up. A flashlight beam landed on Trevor as he stood up, a man appearing around to look into the open box.

"Yo," he started, though backed up slightly when Trevor made to lunge at him, "Easy! Easy! I'm a friendly! Agent Sanchez."

"Ah, our very own corrupt G-man in training," Michael said, Jen glancing over at him as she stood, growing steadily more confused about the agent that was standing before them.

"You gotta be careful, buddy, alright?" Trevor said, "Because they are looking around these trains for illegals. And if you're mistaken," he paused, bending at the knees and made finger pistols, mimicking gunshots, "you'll be shot, _amigo._"

"Very amusing," Agent Sanchez said, backing up as Franklin hopped off the train, carrying two duffel bags full of cash as he walked towards the waiting car.

"Here, if you're expecting these two to bring you up, you're gonna be disappointed, homie," he said, placing the bags down in the open trunk. Jen hopped off the train, hanging back a little bit with her arms crossed.

"Right back at you," the agent said, walking towards the trunk, "that the money?"

"Everything we got," Michael said, walking towards the agent as she opened one duffel bag.

"Okay..." he said as he pulled out four rather small bundles of money, starting to toss them at the four people in the area, "here's your cut! Considering present scrutiny on public worker remuneration, this is a _big win._"

"Oh yeah, it's a _huge_ fucking win. _Woo!_" Trevor said after looking at the stack in his hands, sarcasm heavy in his voice.

"_Monstrous,_" Franklin chimed in.

Jen looked at the other three and their annoyed expressions, taking note of the sarcasm. Hell, she wasn't complaining, the money she held in her hands was probably the most she had seen in her lifetime. Which, judging from the reactions of the other three, was probably saying something.

"I'm out," Sanchez said, shutting the trunk of the car, "Agent Haines'll get in touch with you once _Operation Save the World's_ a go. Get your crew together, okay?"

He got into the car, driving off and left the four of them standing beside the stopped train.

"Fucking punk," Trevor said after he left.

"Alright," Michael said, turning to look at them, "we should probably split up, they're gonna be looking for a four."

"Oh, the _blood_ we spill for the security of this country," Trevor said, starting to walk towards a truck that was sitting across from them, "Come on, Franklin."

Franklin looked back at Michael, giving him a fist bump, "Man, I'll holler at you, homie," he said, then looked over at Jen, "Yo, thanks for the help, J. Good luck with everythin'."

"You too," Jen said awkwardly, watching as Franklin got into the truck with Trevor, the two of them driving off, leaving Jen and Michael standing beside the train.

"Hey, you did alright," Michael said after a few moments, Jen giving him a smile as she chuckled.

"Yeah? I thought I was pretty much dead back in that factory," she said, crossing her arms.

"Nah, for your first time out, you weren't that bad," Michael said, "especially with that much heat."

"Yeah..." Jen started, "Look, feel free to tell me to fuck off if this is out of line, but what is with the federal agents?"

"Ah, that's some shit I got into," Michael said, "It doesn't involve you, so I wouldn't bother yourself with it."

"If you say so..." Jen said, watching as he got on the sole ATV, Michael pausing to look back at her.

"Good luck, kid," he said, "You got payed much less than you should've, but..."

"It's enough," Jen finished with a nod, "thanks."

She watched as Michael drove off in the direction that Trevor and Franklin took off in. Jen let out a sigh, kicking the dirt under her shoe slightly.

_Might as well make my way back, _she thought to herself, starting to walk, _could have left me the fucking ATV, but..._

As she started her walk towards the nearest highway, Jen thought about getting back to Los Santos with her newly acquired money. She hadn't counted any of it yet, but she had a feeling that it would be enough for her to buy her own place and support herself for a bit. Still, the thought of returning back to that lifestyle, the Los Santos bar scene, it left her feeling..._odd._

She'd just helped rob a bank. That was something she would need to sit on for a while.


	3. Jake and The Proudest Stripper

**Sorry for the bit of a wait on this. Also, sorry for the lack of action in this chapter. I figured it would be a good idea to see a bit of Jen's "new" life. Don't worry, it's all downhill from here. :) I hope that it is enjoyable, anyway. **

**Warning: Strong language, violence, and sexual situations. Rated the way it is for a reason. **

* * *

**In The Game**

**Chapter Three**

* * *

"So," Jen started, a smile on her face as she spread her arms out, "what do you think?"

She watched as the thin woman walked into the rather small apartment, her heels clicking on the wood floors. There was really nothing special about it, which, in Jen's eyes, is what made it special. No pictures on the pale walls, a small living area with two couches and a small television was the first thing that could be seen, a kitchen separated by a wall across from it. There was nothing complex about the layout or decor, nothing to over think or look into.

"It's...nice," the woman said with a nod, placing her bags down on the floor beside one of the couches. She was a good head taller than Jen, blonde hair pulled up into a tight ponytail, clad in only a tight fitting shirt and a skirt much too short for just a normal woman in the street, which made her look like she wasn't wearing any pants with the jacket that was resting on her shoulders.

"It is, isn't it?" Jen said, walking around her new apartment with an odd sense of accomplishment. Like she had spent years working up the money, getting up at the crack of dawn everyday to work at a dead-end job, and not assisting in the robbery of a bank. The woman with her, Sabrina, at least had a job. Sure, she was a stripper, but it seemed that she didn't mind it all that much. She bragged about it, really, like she had been picked out of the elite to shake her ass for horny men.

"You really want me to live with you in here?" she asked after a few moments, Jen walking over to the small balcony area, the glass doors covered in floor length blinds.

"Yeah, I had agreed to help you out, right?" Jen asked, pausing to look over at Sabrina with a grin.

"Where did you get this money, anyway?" Sabrina asked after a few moments of looking around, "I mean, fuck, it's nice that you're getting me out of that shit hole that I had called my home, but for someone who was struggling to make fifty bucks last week..."

"I...won the lottery," Jen offered up lamely, the taller woman quirking an eyebrow at her, "it was a small win, alright?"

"Hey, fine," Sabrina said, raising her hands slightly in surrender, "congrats."

"I really like it," Jen said, "it's simple, on the cheaper side, but it has a view."

"Of _what?_" Sabrina asked, taking off her jacket and slung it over the side of the couch, "the alleyway?"

"Well, you can see a building that can see the beach..." Jen said, peering out of the window for a few moments as her new roommate flopped down on the couch, bare legs propped up on the table as she looked over the remote in her hands.

"So, are you actually going to get a job to keep this dream apartment of yours?" Sabrina asked, pressing a button on the remote, the television across from her flickering to life, the woman pursing her lips as the started to search through the channels.

"I guess I will have to, huh?" Jen said, walking over to the couch and sat down beside her, swiping her friend's feet off the table with a sharp kick that the younger woman gave a slight cry and glare at, crossing her legs so that she could rub the spot where she had been kicked. Jen leaned back, her arms crossed.

"Any ideas?" Sabrina prompted, watching some sort of talent show with only halfhearted attention. "I mean, you can still continue to try and hustle drunks out of their money with trick shots at the pool tables in the many bars around Los Santos, but it won't pay the bills, will it?"

"I'll handle it," Jen said, waving her off slightly.

Sabrina didn't reply for a minute or so, the two woman watching some man shout racist things at a group of people on the television, the crowd seeming to eat it up.

"I could get you one," Sabrina said finally, glancing away from the television and fixed her gaze on Jen.

"Like, what? A stripper?" Jen asked with a chuckle, "Come on, I don't have the figure, nor the tolerance, for it."

"Hey, don't be so down on yourself!" Sabrina exclaimed, completely disregarding the last part of her statement, sitting up fully as she turned towards her on the couch, "I mean...you might have to drop a few pounds...get some new tits...but you have a great ass, if my input means anything."

"_Thanks,_" Jen said with a chuckle, rolling her eyes, "I don't know how to dance, I'm under-qualified."

"I can teach you," Sabrina said quickly, "I mean, look at all the space we got!" she gestured around the empty space between the living area and the bedrooms, "We just got to put a pole in here and-"

"I'm not putting a stripper pole in my apartment," Jen stated, "only you will have a reason to use it, and it will just be in the way."

"Hey, _our_ apartment," Sabrina said, pointing her finger back and forth between the two of them, "I'm paying half rent, remember? Shouldn't I get a say about what goes into it as well?"

"I'm vetoing the pole."

"Fine," Sabrina said, rolling her eyes as she leaned back against the couch. "You keep talking about my job like it's the worst thing in the world. I enjoy dancing, I like the attention."

"You keep telling yourself that."

Sabrina shot her a glare before she turned her attention back on the television, Jen's phone vibrating in her pocket. She pulled it out, looking at the message on her screen. Jen took a quick glance at the woman beside her before opening the message up fully, an address being the first part of the text, followed by two short sentences:

_In an hour. Be there._

_-J_

* * *

Jen never expected to be back in front of the house, not since what happened a year or so ago. She had a hard time believing that he still lived there, dead plants surrounding the front porch, front steps warn and creaked under her feet. She leaned to the side slightly, peering into the window that was blocked from the inside with a curtain. The door was unlocked, Jen pushing it open slightly as she walked down the familiar hallway, though the idea that the man she was seeing still lived in there had quickly vanished when she noticed the thin coat of dust that covered bare surfaces and various items.

"Hello?" she called out, shutting the front door behind her. She saw movement from the kitchen area, a rather bulky-looking man stepping into view. Jen had to admit that she thought he would have changed over the year, but he was still the same. He was dressed in the casual button up shirt, which looked crisp and fresh, tucked into a pair of jeans. His boots were loud against the hardwood floor as he walked towards her, arms crossed and stare hard. He had always looked professional, blond hair slicked back with bright blue eyes that always seemed to reveal his mood, as hard as he would try to hide it. He looked like he should be working in some high end store instead of assisting people like herself and her brother, back when he was still alive.

"What the fuck do you think you are doing, huh?" he demanded, Jen letting out a chuckle as she gestured around the empty house.

"_You_ messaged _me_..."

She jumped slightly when she found a crumpled page of a newspaper shoved into her chest, the man walking further into the kitchen before he sat himself down in a chair at the table, legs out in front of him, Jen feeling his gaze on her as she looked down at the newspaper. It was an article about the robbery in Paleto Bay, Jen clearing her throat as she let out an awkward chuckle.

"That's unfortunate, but I don't see how-"

"Let's not play games, _Jenessa_," he stated, leaning forward to place his bare arms on the dusty table, "I'm supposed to believe that you went from a few thousand dollars to over two hundred thousand in the course of a few weeks? That you would have enough money to play house with your stripper friend?"

Jen placed the paper down on the table, taking a seat in the chair next to his as she leaned back, rolling her head backwards slightly as she looked up at the ceiling. "I was going through a hard time, I was getting tired of working up only a few hundred dollars every three weeks, and, not to mention, having to spread my legs for some fucking asshole who just happened to have an extra couch for the night. I was offered an opportunity, so I took it."

"Jen, dead women _don't rob banks._"

"They also don't sleep in stranger's beds and get kicked out of bars for being recognized as a hustler," Jen hissed, "I want to make at least an _attempt_ at having a somewhat normal life. If that means rooming with the world's proudest stripper in some rundown apartment in Vespucci Beach, which I bought with money that I got _helping_ other people rob a bank, that's fine by me. I don't see you helping me out, anyhow, as much as you are taking offence to this whole thing."

"I'm not the fucking Witness Protection Program, alright?" the man snapped, narrowing his blue eyes at her as he clenched his jaw, "You're just being an idiot. I'd be wasting my money for you just to go run off with these people you claim to be helping."

"It won't happen again," Jen said, raising her hands slightly, "I just needed a boost, a kick-start in the direction of the right direction."

"You know, your brother basically told me the same thing when I helped him. He still killed and did reckless things, even with the money I gave him to help out. You were raised up in that, so I'm not surprised that you would feel right at home in this crime shit. Get out of it, I'm not going to cover your tracks if things go wrong."

"I will, Jake," Jen stated, the man across from her taking a few moments to study her, "If it means anything, I didn't enjoy it all that much. There was too much pressure and gunfire."

"What about _them?_"

"What about them?" Jen replied, "I'm still paranoid about that, as any sensible person should be, but I don't see how they would know about my thing in Paleto Bay. If the other members of the crew haven't been identified already, I doubt that some pissed off asshole will know about it, either."

"Keep this up and he just might."

"It won't happen again."

"I want to take your word for it," Jake stated, rising up from his seat, crossing the room as Jen did the same, her hand lingering on the page of the newspaper.

"How's your family?" she asked suddenly, "You marry that girlfriend of yours yet?"

"Fuck off," Jake muttered, leaving the room, Jen listening to his boots against the floor as he headed down the front hall. A sigh escaped from her mouth as she heard the front door being shut, Jen mulling over what he had said about her brother. While she didn't like the pressure, she had to admit that holding a weapon in her hands again felt...familiar.

Nice, even. Like she was at home.

She let out a low, angry growl.

"Fuck you, too," she muttered, shaking her head as she crumpled up the newspaper, tossing it into the bin in the kitchen before she followed in Jake's footsteps.


End file.
